Yep

Sasha’s charging at you with a **** that almost makes you want to swear that a NFL running back does not have that much junk in their trucks. But once again, all that’s useless if she can’t hit you if you can predict her movements, so you’ll face no troubles. As such, once again you sidestep out of Sasha’s path.

You think all that anger got to her as she goes for the same tackle repeatedly. Never once considering changing up her move set so for the next minute, it’s a show between a bull and a matador. Though the matador is getting a laugh out of watching his bull run into the fridge.

But all this dodging around is sure to make someone tired, and since it looks like she’s running on adrenaline-fueled rage, it looks like you might be the first to tap out. That cannot happen if only because you don’t want to be tackled by a she-hulk.

So, when you felt that you’ve grasped the timing of her movements, you wait for her to lunge one more time, and this time you don’t dodge until the last second, and when you did, you did so with minimal movements, letting her run gut-first into the kitchen counter. Her momentum stalls as she lurches forward, clutching her stomach.

Not missing your chance, you wrap your fingers around hers, and somehow gather up enough strength and leverage to toss up up in a textbook German Suplex that sends her flying head first into the fridge behind you.

You rise back up immediately and inspect the prone, deflated body of your opponent. Seeing that’s she sufficiently worn out, you sigh in relief as you begin to inhale huge gulps of air, the machinations on your chest telling on how much that took out of you. Four deep breaths later, you turn your attention back to Sasha.